Chapter 13 - Another Empty Bottle
Paul sighed exasperatedly for what felt like the hundredth time that evening. He took another sip of his coffee and scrolled further down.
How the hell was he supposed to tell if it had been Dawn whom he had been chatting with all along?
It sounded absurd, he knew, but if there was one thing that the course of his acquaintance with the blue-haired girl had taught him, it was that things could always get crazier than what you thought was possible.
He was out of his mind to even consider it a possibility, but What If?
What if it was her, did that mean she had asked for all that advice about him? And what if it was him who had asked her how to figure her out? What if it was her who had asked him what to get him for a gift?
He spared the typewriter on his desk a glance. This was all too confusing for him to even begin to comprehend.
Wondering What If did him no good when he had absolutely no idea how to find out for sure. He didn't even know if he wanted to know for sure.
And if it turned out to be Dawn, then what? Would he keep that knowledge to himself, would he somehow use it to his advantage, or would he reveal to her that it was his fucked up family's story that she had been reading about online?
Just thinking of all the complications such a revelation would bring him, made him question if he really wanted to know.
The boy groaned and banged his forehead against the desk in aggravation.
Why did he ever listen to Reggie? Without him having pestered him to start writing again and, what was more, to fucking post his work online, this would have never happened. He would have never started a correspondence with a complete stranger over the Internet or started wondering just who his pen-pal might be. The prospect of silence is my jam but i like rock too NOT being a stranger at all terrified him to bits.
The fact that Dawn herself still remained a mystery to him in some aspects was what stopped him from delving into the matter any further. He would accomplish absolutely nothing by torturing himself with things he had no way of finding out for sure, because he was scared what a possible success to his search might mean. The fatalist inside of him immediately conjured up a reality, in which his pointless snooping resulted in him losing both the online contact with his so-called friend and his friendship with the most amazing person he had ever come to know.
Paul shut off his laptop and rest his hands behind his head, closing his eyes briefly as her face took shape behind his closed lids and almost made him sigh in desperation (but he didn't, because there was still a grain of restraint he had managed to preserve from her as she slowly cut him open, ripped him apart and stripped him of his defenses, reshaping him until he could no longer recognize himself).
The girl with the too-blue eyes and the too-wide smile, who was so achingly beautiful and so painfully out of his reach. Untouchable. Too good, too pure, for a person like him to ever lay his hands on.
What's more, she was his friend. He could not risk losing that, not for a far-fetched assumption provoked by a few coincidental (or maybe not) buzzes of her phone. Neither could he risk losing that friendship by ever imagining that it might evolve to something more.
Because, as he with horror realized, it might. It was a distinctly alarming possibility, and it could not be ignored anymore. He knew he was standing dangerously close to the edge of that precarious cliff and nothing would be able to help him once he fell.
With every day that passed, with every smile she smiled to herself while he was secretly looking, his downfall was becoming less of a probability and more of a certainty. The only real variable was when. And he would do everything in his power to make sure it would be as close to never as possible. He hoped there wouldn't be something to push him off that cliff and send him falling down, towards what people romanticized as heaven, but what he deemed rock bottom.
He couldn't love Dawn. He couldn't permit her relevance to grow into its full potential, he couldn't allow her to strip him of everything he had ever stood for, until there was nothing left to remake.
He couldn't, but he wondered if that was something he was able to decide. To withhold love from someone you decide shouldn't have it yet, not when there is still a stockpile of unsaid things, of untold stories.
Paul wondered if it was possible at all, to prevent a fall you knew was coming.
He opened his eyes, irritated by nothing and everything at the same time, and decided to distract himself from his thoughts and his goddamn feelings, absently wondering if he wasn't falling already.
It was Thursday night and there was a big fat nothing for Dawn to do.
It was one of the days Paul had to stay behind after school and help Farrell with his administration shit, which meant aimless browsing through the TV channels while she lied sprawled on the couch in her living room, bored out of her mind. It wasn't like she hadn't tried to tag along with him, but he had, for unbeknownst reasons to her, thoroughly ignored her and just told her she would get in the way. When Farrell had stepped in and told her it would be best if she went home ("because it would be dangerous for a young lady like you to walk across the city after dark", but she just knew there was something else), the only thing left for her to do was just that.
She wondered, later, whether her being at home that evening had been a good or a bad thing.
As she opened the front door and came face to face with her father, who had probably for the first time ever acknowledged the existence of their doorbell, she decided it was neither.
"Hello, kid," he greeted as he smiled at her for a fraction of the second, nervously, almost as if he was about to flee from the scene any moment. His eyes hovered above her head and quickly scanned the inside of the house, fidgeting in obvious unrest. He was sober in her presence for what felt like the first time in ages. "Is your mom home?"
It took Dawn a second to get out of her stupor. She blinked. "No. No, she's out of town on business."
"Ah," Jack Berlitz glanced around the yard, looking as if he was at a loss as to what to do. "Well, I better be-"
"You can come in and talk to me," the words were out of her mouth before she could stop herself. She blushed under her father's incredulous gaze and added timidly, not daring to meet his eyes, "if you'd like."
He ran a hand through thick brown hair, gray strands visible here and there which made him look significantly older than he actually was. "Uh, yeah," he cleared his throat somewhat sheepishly. Dawn realized it was him she had inherited her nervous tics from. "Yeah, I'd like that. If you don't mind, of course."
She let him inside and closed the front door, taking in a deep breath. "So," she started uncertainly as she hurried to fold the blanket sprawled on the couch to make way for him to sit. He chose the armchair across from it instead. "Why are you looking for mom?"
"I just, uh, wanted to talk to her."
"About what?" Dawn asked, as nonchalantly as possible, as she offered him a glass of water. He declined with a wave of his hand, seeming as though he was selecting his next words carefully.
"About… well, nothing in particular. Actually, I wanted to ask her if it'd be alright if I…" his hazel eyes shot up to hers and then quickly moved away. "If you could come live with me for a bit. For like a week or something."
Dawn's eyes widened in shock. He couldn't be serious, could he? It's what she had been waiting for all her life, for her father to actually want to spend time with her. It almost sounded too good to be the truth and she wondered if it was just another ruse to get a reaction out of her mother.
He had only ever asked her that once before, just after the divorce, and she had been ecstatic, of course, like any little girl with big hopes for her family that didn't pan out would be. But she also remembered how little and fragile Johanna had looked on their front porch as she watched them go that sunny afternoon all those years ago.
The brief period after her parents had separated had been the time when she had been showered with the attention she had been craving from them her whole life, and she had even been foolish enough to think that maybe cold Mommy and drunk Daddy living in different houses was for the best if that meant they wouldn't fight anymore and she wouldn't be caught in the middle. She knew now that she had never really been in the middle, it had never been about her at all; they only used her as a device to get back at each other and ignored her altogether when she couldn't serve that purpose.
"I don't… I don't think that would be a good idea," she murmured, the iron fist of uncertainty clenched around her heart. Is that all I am to him still?
Her father's face fell a little. "I… I understand. If you ever feel like it though, you're always invited."
"Yeah. Yeah, okay," she smiled at him meekly, her eyebrows knit together as she tried to silence her inner conflict. Does he really want to spend time with me? Does he care at all?
"Dawn," her father spoke up with concern laced through his voice. She was so fucked-up emotionally that she had to doubt if that concern was even real. "Are you alright?"
"Yeah. Yeah," she smiled more widely to convince him. She decided she would give him a chance. Who knew when she'd see him sober again anyway. "So, how are you?"
"A little stressed, but okay, I guess. Lily broke her leg and-"
"I didn't ask about Lily," Dawn snapped back quickly and more harshly than she intended to.
Her father studied her face for a moment. "The fact that I live with another woman doesn't mean I love you any less. You know I love you, right? Both you and your mother."
"I know it, but it's become too easy to forget," she whispered, trying not to let her bitterness seep through her voice. "If you love us as much as you say, then why did you leave us?" She looked up at him and didn't avert her gaze, expecting him to shift uncomfortably under her stare. Instead, he met her eyes calmly, without flinching or showing any sign of remorse or uneasiness.
"I didn't leave you, Dawn. You know that. Things with your mother weren't working out, it would have been more painful for all of us if I had stayed."
She stared at him, almost accusingly. "You love her, right?"
He nodded, a mixture of sadness and wistfulness in his eyes. "I do."
"Then why don't you fight for what you want?"
"I don't expect you to understand, Dawn. Maybe when you grow up you'll see that-"
"What will I see?"
"That some things aren't meant to be. Sometimes you just have to let go."
"That sounds wise," she said as she leaned back, feeling more pity towards him than anger. "But it's not very convincing when the man saying it doesn't follow his own advice."
Jack furrowed his brows in confusion. "And what is that supposed to mean?"
"You haven't let go," Dawn stated simply as her eyes searched his face, the face of an unhappy person, who knew where his happiness was but was reluctant to fight for it. Because he thought it wasn't meant to be.
Her dad was the most tragic person she had ever known, she decided. Regret was written all over his face, a face that could be adorned by a loving smile instead, if only he allowed it.
If only he knew that he could.
"How do you know that I haven't?" He looked curious. She smiled sadly. He wanted to hear what she had to say. But she knew he wouldn't listen.
"You wouldn't come here every time you're drunk off your ass if you had," and at that he looked genuinely ashamed.
"Dawn, I… I'm sorry. I'm not the father you deserve," he rubbed his face, looking even more resigned than he sounded, and she saw the self-hatred this man held for himself, for what he had become. And the confines of his mind that told him he could never be anything else.
Her eyes hardened. His behavior was unacceptable for someone who was supposed to be setting an example for his legacy. "Why are you so afraid to make a change when it's obvious you're unhappy?"
He shook his head. "You're still just a kid. It'll be years before you understand."
"You're wrong. I'll never understand. And I'll never believe my own life is anywhere but in my own hands."
He looked at her. "You remind me of your mother so much."
It didn't sound like a compliment, so naturally she didn't take it as such.
"My mother might not be the best parent, but at least she knows me better than you do," she spoke calmly and evenly. It was clear who was more broken of the two in that moment. "She would never tell me that giving up is an acceptable thing to do."
He was looking at her as if he was seeing her for the first time.
"I know you've already surrendered. I can't make you change yourself or your beliefs," she stood up from the couch, motioning that it was time for him to go. "But don't try to change me."
He shook his head and laughed hoarsely as he stood up as well. "I really am ashamed. My daughter has become a strong young lady all on her own and I don't even know the first thing about her."
He turned to face her when he was already out the front door and looked at her with something almost akin to pride. "I would never try to change you, Dawn. If you'd let me, I'd like to get to know you instead."
And he left.
Dawn shut the door behind him, blinking back a tear, and didn't even try to crush the hope welling up inside of her that he really meant what he said.
It was Thursday night and Paul was immersed in a strange feeling of tranquility and comforting apathy while organizing school files in Farrell's office.
The process was dull and repetitive, but it offered him an escape from his thoughts and that was more than welcome. He was particularly satisfied by a certain blue-haired girl's absence, because it gave him a chance to take a break from overwhelming, stifling feelings that he wasn't ready to confront, not just yet.
Farrell entered the room and it was only when Paul noticed he hadn't come alone that he interrupted his mindless activity. His eyebrows shot up in silent incredulity as he saw Kenny Kengo walk through the door, following after Farrell with obvious reluctance.
He narrowed his eyes at him - the obnoxious bully who had been throwing an increased amount of nasty remarks his way ever since he had become friends with Dawn. The brunet met his gaze with a look of equal distaste, but, strangely enough, didn't make any snide comments. Perhaps it had to do with the fact that there was a teacher in the room, although Farrell's presence had never stopped him before.
Paul merely raised an eyebrow at Kenny as he sat in the chair on the opposite side of the desk, where another pile of documents waited to be sorted.
"This is what you'll be doing for the rest of the evening, Mr. Kengo," Farrell informed him as he tip-toed around the small space to water a lonely pot by the window. The geranium looked yellowish and exhausted and just about ready to die, but the teacher hummed happily to himself as he inspected its leaves and poked its closed green buds (which Paul highly doubted would ever flower). "If you have any questions, you can turn to Paul. He has become very well acquainted with the whole process."
And he pranced out of the office, quietly singing Patrick Swayze lyrics to himself, while Paul just looked after him incredulously. Is this why Farrell had sent Dawn home? What the hell was Kengo of all people doing here?
He didn't vocalize his questions out loud, though, since he had zero interest in engaging in a confrontation with the amoeba in front of him. Kengo started working on his pile of files silently, clearly having no intention of talking either.
There was tension in the air as the two worked in silence. Paul ignored the other boy's presence altogether as he concentrated on the task at hand, although he couldn't help but snigger quietly when he heard Kengo hiss and curse at a mistake he had made.
"What are you giggling at, Shinji?" The brunet snapped finally.
"Nothing at all, Kengo," he replied smoothly, meeting his glare with a cold gaze.
Kenny narrowed his eyes at him in dislike. "You've gotten way too cocky since you got tight with DeeDee. I'd say she's a bad influence on you."
"You'd say that and I still wouldn't care," Paul remarked as he refocused his attention to the pile of documents in front of him.
"How is it that you two came to be friends anyway?" The brunet asked suddenly. Paul looked up, surprised to see a fair amount of curiosity in his brown eyes.
"What's it to you, Kengo?"
"I just wonder." He leaned his elbows on the desk and edged his face slightly closer, narrowing his eyes. "Just how close have you and DeeDee gotten, huh?"
Even if I knew, I wouldn't tell you, Paul thought as he decided to deflect with a question of his own. "Why do you call her that?"
"What, DeeDee?" He sneered contemptuously. "Because she hates it. Reminds her of the good old times."
Paul glowered at him, his confusion outweighing his hostility. "What good old times?"
Kenny leaned back in his chair and put his hands behind his head, a snide smirk crawling on his face. "She hasn't told you much, has she?"
He clenched his jaw. "What do you think you know about her that I don't?"
"Why, everything." Kenny's eyes were shining with mirth. "Don't you know? DeeDee and I used to be the best of pals."
He chuckled as he met Paul's glare with a look of amusement. "You know, I really thought I wouldn't enjoy this when Farrell made me come here. Now, I'm thinking he may have been right."
"Right about what," Paul asked through gritted teeth.
"About the talk he said I needed to have with you," Kenny inspected the pen between his fingers offhandedly, visibly enjoying the other boy's stupor.
"Why would Farrell want you to talk to me?" Paul leaned forwards and narrowed his eyes at him suspiciously. "What games are you playing, Kengo?"
Kenny looked unimpressed at the threatening glare Paul was sending him. "Don't be so dramatic, Shinji, I'm simply trying to pass the semester. Farrell read my essay, told me I was making good progress," at that he rolled his eyes, "and sent me here to talk to you, because 'I would benefit from it' and shit."
"I don't care about your benefit and I'm not interested."
Kenny grinned mischievously. "Predictably. But this is not just about me. Farrell thinks it would be interesting to see what you'd do after. And annoying and crazy that he is, I'm actually quite curious myself."
"Farrell has involved me in one too many of his nutty schemes," Paul cut off. "And if Dawn doesn't want to talk about something in her past, it's not your place to do it for her."
"Oh, you're so noble. Touching," Kenny put a hand on his chest mockingly. "But how could Dawn tell you this when she knows nothing about it?"
"That doesn't even make sense, Kengo," Paul scowled. "Go back to your work and shut up."
"Ask her why I stopped talking to her all those years ago after she had cried gallons on my shoulder. Just ask her," Kenny sneered. "You'll see she'll have nothing to say."
"If you want to explain your actions to her, then do so yourself. This doesn't involve me," Paul snapped, irritated by the other boy's persistence, and even more annoyed by the fact that his interest had been slightly piqued.
"And why would I explain myself to her? I don't want her to know," Kenny stated indifferently.
"But you want me to know?" Paul scoffed. "Cut the bullshit, Kengo. Why would you tell me something, allegedly true, when you say you don't want Dawn to know? I could easily tell her and ruin whatever your stupid scheme is."
"Simple, Shinji. Because I know you're not going to tell her anything I tell you."
"Is that a threat?" Paul asked bluntly, a challenge in his eyes.
"Far from it," Kenny returned his gaze, seeming as equally determined. "You care too much about her to do so."
Paul must've raised his eyebrows in surprise because the brunet just rolled his eyes in irritation. "Come on, Shinji. I might be falling behind in my classes, but I'm not blind. And I'm not going to fail fucking Farrell as well, just because you're too chicken to hear what he wants me to tell you."
"Fuck you and Farrell, you're not going to make me pry into Dawn's life. Leave me alone," Paul spat.
Kenny narrowed his eyes angrily. "You're such an arrogant prick. Ever the hero, right? You care about her, so what? I should hand you a Nobel Prize, for sure. I did what I did all those years back to protect her and no one even knows about it. I don't deserve a prize, because I'm a prick just like you, but don't you act as if you're so high and mighty. Best Guy of The Year, miserably friendzoned and handling it well. Hooray for you," he clapped a few times with contempt visible in his brown eyes.
Paul glared at him. "You're so full of shit, Kengo."
"What, you don't believe me? Tell me, what do you know about her family?"
He gritted his teeth. "I know enough." But she never actually told you anything, right?
"You know nothing. You weren't the one who had to distract her with games of hopscotch while her parents yelled loud enough for the entire street to hear."
Paul promptly shut up after that. It was true. He knew nothing about that time of Dawn's life, about what her childhood had been like, about the events which had formed her into who she was. He knew nothing because she'd never told him. And he had never dared to ask.
"She never found out why I stopped talking to her. At least so I hope," Kenny bore his gaze into Paul's dark eyes. "Did you know my mother used to be a musician, Shinji?"
Paul had no idea how to react to that sudden question. He just shook his head wordlessly, furrowing his brows in confusion.
"She was, until I ruined her career," Kengo cast a wistful glance towards the dying geranium in the pot by the window. "She wrote a song about Dawn. It was a good one, I suppose, since she almost managed to sell it to a singer to perform. A sad song, which took an adult mind to understand. I didn't understand it, so I asked my mother about it the first time I heard her play it. And she told me, honestly, brutally, what every word meant." Kenny paused briefly. He studied Paul's face for a moment, before he resumed talking.
"It was basically about a girl with a shitty home life, who, desperate to escape the situation, eventually committed suicide," he continued evenly, emotionlessly. "Naturally, I was horrified. When she told me it was about Dawn, I got scared that she would end up killing herself just like the girl in the song."
Paul's head throbbed. Dawn? Killing herself? Never in a million years would he imagine the girl he knew committing suicide. Kenny, evidently, had once thought otherwise.
"I didn't want to put any ideas in her head, so I had to make sure that she wouldn't hear the damn song. My mother had made death sound like a beautiful solution, like the only solution, and she actually saw Dawn as a helpless little girl who could never grow out of her family issues and learn her own value."
Paul was grateful to know that at present she was everything but.
"I begged her not to sell it, but it was the only deal she had managed to get in ages, so, naturally, she told me to bugger off. It took some sabotage, but eventually I did it. And I had to stop talking to Dawn, so that her personal drama wouldn't get exploited again. And so that she would learn to keep to herself. If it wasn't my mother, it would be someone else. Just imagine what would have happened if social services had received a call."
Kenny finished his sentence, seeming as though he had concluded his story, but he had yet to answer Paul's thousand questions. "She must have been important to you if you went through all that trouble. Kind of contradicts your current attitude towards her."
Kenny shrugged. "I got angry when I saw her carry on without me. I guess I still hadn't let go and it sucked to see her doing fine on her own."
Paul raised an eyebrow at him. "So you started bullying her?"
The brunet rolled his eyes. "According to Farrell it was the only adequate response I was able to formulate or whatever. Because of how my mother treated me and shit."
"Hm," Paul looked at the other boy thoughtfully, feeling a grain of empathy towards him. "We really do become our parents." He remembered the heated debate he had had with Dawn over The Breakfast Club all that time ago and how she had presented that line as an argument in the movie's defense. He hated to admit that she had been right.
"Guess so," Kenny agreed as he ran a hand through his brown hair. "Farrell should be back any minute now. I suppose I get a passing grade now."
"You really don't want her to know any of that? She's strong now, you know," Paul muttered. "Her life isn't anywhere but in her own hands. She wouldn't be influenced by some song."
Kenny looked thoughtful for a moment. "Nah, I wouldn't want you to feel threatened by me." He smirked cockily as he turned towards the door of the office. "I know she doesn't need anyone watching over her anymore, but I hope you know it's your job now nevertheless." Paul just stared at his back blankly. "Tell Farrell to stop pestering me. He got what he wanted."
He paused with his hand on the doorknob and cast a brief glance towards Paul. "I still don't like you."
"Likewise," Paul replied as the other boy went out the door and into the hallway.
Probably out of Dawn's life too, he mused. It wasn't right to let it happen by keeping this new information to himself, he thought. But it wasn't something that he had the power to decide. People made their own choices and this obnoxious twat, whom he had blindly despised (not that he didn't deserve it, of course), had decided, for the second time in his existence, to remove himself from Dawn's life.
It was a decision Paul knew wasn't his to make. A rather selfless one too, all twistedness of the situation considered.
A decision that he himself would have never had the strength to make. He was an egoist when it came to Dawn, he realized, a girl who gave so much more with her warm smiles than what she received from him and his frowns. He was toxic for her, but he couldn't sacrifice their friendship just because he thought she would be better off without him.
That's where he and Kengo were different, he supposed.
One boy making sure she grew up alone so that she could be independent, so that she wouldn't need to count on anybody but herself, so that she would turn into this beautiful girl who was still haunted, but who would never be foolish enough to think that the world would be able to spin properly on its axis without her.
The other being lucky enough to enter her life when she had learnt to get by without any friends, but she wanted him to be a friend to her anyway.
(And in no way did Paul consider Kengo a threat. If anything, he was grateful.
Perhaps a little too selfishly, but grateful nonetheless.)
So, yeah. Everyone has a backstory. The song this was inspired by is 'Another Empty Bottle' by Katy McAllister (I own nothing, if you haven't guessed already), so go listen to it if you want to get a better understanding of this whole thing. I quite like it, it fits perfectly into this kinda depressing background we have here (solely interrupted by Farrell's Patrick Swayze obsession and poor gardening skills! damn, I like this character, I like him a lot :D).
Oh, and I know that the original line in The Breakfast Club was "My God, are we going to be like our parents?" but what I used is pretty much the gist of it, so yeah. This chapter was originally a whole different thing, but what I had planned got pushed back for next chapter since Dawn's dad and Kenny kind of wormed their way in. Oh well, the finished product is always unpredictable. Tell me what you thought! :)